Picture Me Dead (2 page)

Five years later

W
hat happened, Ashley admitted to herself later, was at least partly her own fault. But another part of it was that he startled her. And being startled was closely akin to being
scared.
She hated to admit to being afraid over silly things, though. It just didn't fit with the life she had chosen.

So…

It might well have been her fault. But it wasn't even 6:00 a.m. Nick did have a few old-timers who arrived early now and then, tapping at the door at the crack of dawn because they knew he would be up, but she hadn't been expecting to run into any of them before the sun had even begun to peek out.

It was dark. Still the middle of the night to some people.

She was on her cell phone, as well. When it had rung, she had been certain it was Karen or Jan, making sure that she was up and almost out of the house. Naturally she answered it while juggling her coffee, purse, keys and overnight bag. It wasn't Karen or Jan, though, but her friend Len Green, who had been with the metro force for some time now and watched over her progress like a mother hen. He was calling because he knew she was leaving. He joked that he'd called to tell her to have a great vacation and, out of kindness to Jan and Karen, since Ashley had opted to do the driving, make sure she was actually up and ready to swing by for them at approximately the right time. She laughed, thanking Len for calling, and indignantly informed him that she was always up on time. He mentioned briefly that he might be driving up that night after work with some friends on the Broward fire rescue team, so maybe they would run into one another. She had clicked the end-call button as she opened the door, but the phone was still in her hand.

There had been no tapping on the door. No hint of a knock at all. She was leaving, so she simply struggled with the lock and all she held, opened the door and barged right out.

And into
him.

Into. Straight into. With impetus.

In the darkness, with the shadows of early morning broken only by the pale lights from the house, she walked right into him. She nearly screamed, as her overnight bag fell on his feet. One of the tins of cookies she had been carrying went flying. Her coffee cup, held in the same hand as her keys, was violently jostled, sending the hot liquid flying over both of them.

“Shit!”

“Shit!”

He was wearing a short-sleeved, open denim shirt, so the coffee hit his flesh. He swore—an instinctive response to being scalded. When
he
swore,
she
swore. She felt herself being steadied and stepped back quickly, still wondering if she should scream like the bloody blazes. But apparently he offered her no threat.

He looked something like a large, toned beach bum.

“What the fu—hell!” she stuttered.

“Yeah, what the hell?” he repeated, brushing at his chest, where her coffee had spattered. “I'm looking for Nick.”

“At this time of the morning?”

“Excuse me, but he told me to come at ‘this time of the morning.'”

The man was definitely aggravated. A friend of Nick's, huh? She took another step back, frowning as she eyed him. Could be. She'd seen him before. Not all that often. He wasn't one of the guys who sat around the bar, sharing their lives as they played armchair football during the Sunday games. Quieter. Actually, he had seemed like the brooding, silent type, the few times she had seen him. Dress him up differently and he could be Heathcliff, out walking the moors. When she had noticed him before, he had been sitting. Now she saw that he was tall, six-two or three. He had dark hair, dark eyes, strong features, and he was somewhere in his late twenties to mid-thirties. He had a rough, outdoor-type look to him, but then, most of the people around the marina had that look. Deeply tanned and well muscled—easy to see, since he was wearing cutoffs and his shirt was open, probably just thrown on as a concession to the fact that he was arriving at the private entrance to an eating establishment where shirts and shoes were required by Florida law.

“You should have knocked,” she said, then was aggravated at herself, because she sounded defensive. She
lived
here, damn it.

“Well, you know, I was about to do just that—before being attacked by flying coffee.”

He was suggesting, of course, that she should be apologizing. No way. She had been, frankly, scared, and that had made her angry. This was her home, and there was no reason in hell why she should have expected a man to be standing there. Not to mention that she was wearing coffee, as well. So no way was she about to apologize.

“Damn!” she said, realizing that half the cookies were a total loss, already attracting sea birds. She stared at him again. “You've broken my cookies.”

“I broke your cookies?” he said. She didn't like his tone at all. Or the way his facial features tightened, more with slough-it-off contempt than with any anger. He was incredulous, as if her cookies couldn't matter in the least.

Well, they did matter. They were a present. Sharon had left the containers on the counter with a big bow on them, suggesting she have a wonderful weekend.

“My cookies are all over the ground. Good cookies. Home-baked cookies. Cookies that were a present.” She tried to stop herself. She was sounding ridiculous—over cookies. “My keys are somewhere, I'm late, and now I have to change. We don't open here until eleven—for your future reference. Nick is awake, however. I'll tell him that you're here.”

“You forgot something in your assessment of the damage.”

“What?”

“Your coffee just burned my chest. I could sue.”

“I would say your attempt to barge into
my
home caused me to ruin my own shirt.”

“And your cookies, of course.”

“And my cookies. So go ahead. Sue. You just do that.”

She turned back into the house, intentionally closing the door in his face. “Nick!” she called to her uncle. “Someone to see you.” Beneath her breath, she added, “Major-league, overgrown
ass
here to see you.”

She didn't wait to see if Nick responded. In a hurry, she raced through the private quarters that abutted the restaurant to her bedroom, changed quickly and started back out again. Apparently Nick had heard her, because the man was standing in the kitchen now. Nick did seem to know the guy, because they were discussing something over coffee. As she breezed through, they both stopped talking. The dark-haired man watched her, coolly appraising, judging her, she was certain, but as to what his judgment might be, she had no idea, nor did she care. Nick had certainly never required that she—or any of his employees—be nice to people simply because they were customers.

“Ashley…” Nick began.

“Where's Sharon? Is she up yet? I need to thank her for the cookies,” she said, staring back at the newcomer. She got a better look at him now. Tough guy, strong body, good-looking face, easy, powerful, controlled manner. Probably thought he was God's gift to the women of the world.

She purposely looked away from him and at her uncle.

“Sharon didn't stay last night. She was getting ready for some campaign work this morning,” Nick said. “Ashley, if you'll take a second—”

“Can't. I'll hit all the traffic if I wait. Love you.”

Rude, perhaps, but she was in no mood for an introduction and pleasantries.

“Drive carefully,” Nick admonished.

“Absolutely. You know me.” She kissed his cheek. “'Bye. Love you.”

Outside, she retrieved everything that she had dropped, except, of course, the cookies that had spilled and fed a half dozen gulls.

She could hear Nick apologizing to the man on her behalf. “I don't know what's with her this morning. Ash is usually the most courteous young woman you'd ever want to meet.”

Sorry, Nick, she thought. She hoped the guy wasn't a really good friend of his.

She was about fifteen minutes late picking up Karen, which made her about twenty-five minutes late picking up Jan. Yet once they were all in the car, it didn't seem to matter so much, and the tension and anger she had been feeling ebbed quickly. They were still a good fifteen to twenty minutes ahead of the real start of rush hour. Both Karen and Jan were in terrific moods, delighted that they were heading off on their few days' vacation together. There had been one container of cookies left, and Jan had happily dived right into them.

“Hey, pass the cookies up here,” Karen said to Jan.

“Excuse me, you got shotgun, I got the cookies,” Jan responded, grinning, then passed the tin of homemade chocolate chip cookies up to Karen in the front seat. Karen offered them first to Ashley, who was driving.

Ashley shook her head. “No, thanks.” Her eyes were on the road. So far they were clipping nicely along I-95. It didn't seem to matter that they had started out later than intended. Not that much later, she told herself.

“That's how Ashley stays thin,” Jan noted. “She has the ‘just say no' thing down pat.”

“It's because she's going to be a cop,” Karen said.

Ashley laughed. “It's because she gorged on them before leaving the house,” she told the two of them. That was true. Before the one container had gone to the birds, she'd eaten a number of them.

“Think they might be dietetic cookies?” Karen asked hopefully.

“No way. Nothing that tastes this good is dietetic,” Jan said with a sigh. “We'll make it up, though. We'll check into the hotel, go to the pool, swim like the dickens and walk it all off at the parks.”

“We'll just eat more junk at the parks,” Jan said woefully. “Boy, Ashley, you just had to bring these cookies, huh?”

“If I hadn't brought the cookies, we just would have stopped and ordered something really greasy at one of the rest stops,” Ashley assured her. “There should have been more cookies, actually. Enough to last the trip.”

“What happened?”

“I dropped them. Actually, I banged into some guy looking for Nick and they went flying. His fault, not mine.”

“We're going to have to stop anyway—coffee to go with the cookies,” Karen reminded her. “In fact, I'm stopping here and now. Not one more bite until we get the coffee to go with the cookies.”

“Milk would be good,” Jan said.

“Milk goes with Oreos,” Karen said. “Coffee goes with chocolate chips.”

“I actually had coffee, but then…oh, well,” Ashley murmured.

“You dropped
it,
too?”

“Yeah, I dropped it.” She grinned at Jan via the mirror. “Actually, I spilled it all over him. And myself. I had to change. That's why I was so late.”

“Was it a good friend of Nick's?” Jan asked. “Was he ticked?”

“Hey, was he cute, or one of the old salts?” Karen asked.

“I don't think he's a good friend, but I've seen him around before. I guess he was ticked. But it was his fault.”

“That you spilled coffee on him?” Jan said.

“Well, he was just there—practically in the doorway. Who expects to open their door to a hulking stranger before six in the morning?”

“Well, actually, you should,” Karen pointed out. “All those aging old tars living in the houseboats at the marina know Nick is up early, and they'd rather have your coffee than make their own.”

“So, Ash, you started the morning off by burning an old geezer?” Jan said. “That isn't like you. Most of the people who frequent that place think you're the most wonderful little darling in the entire world and that Nick is lucky to have you.”

“I hope you didn't cause an old guy's pacemaker to stop,” Karen told her.

“I don't think this guy has a pacemaker.”

“He wasn't an old geezer?” Jan said, perking up.

“He was a young asshole,” Ashley told her.

“Hey, you never answered me, if he was cute or not,” Karen said.

Ashley hesitated, frowning slightly. She didn't pay a ton of attention to everyone who came into Nick's—she didn't help out now anywhere near as much as she had done in years past. But she was usually observant. She noticed faces, because she loved to draw. And she usually remembered features very clearly. It seemed strange to her now that she had seen the man before and really not taken that much notice of him.

“I would never describe him as ‘cute,'” she assured Karen.

“Too bad. I was thinking there might be someone hot and new at Nick's to observe,” Jan said sadly.

Ashley was silent for a minute.

“Hey, she didn't say that he wasn't hot,” Karen observed.

“I don't think he's the type I'd want to take an interest in,” Ashley said.

“Because he was rude?” Jan asked. “It didn't sound to me as if you were in the mood to be Miss Manners yourself.”